


Beyond the Soul

by BlacVenus



Series: Beyond the Soul [1]
Category: Fables: The Wolf Among Us (Video Game), The Witcher (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 04:14:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28807131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlacVenus/pseuds/BlacVenus
Summary: A brooding private-eye that is torn between living in the past or make amends for his new life. As he figures out what he wants to do, Geralt constantly battling himself and others fables in the New World that makes his life a little harder than necessary.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & You, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Reader
Series: Beyond the Soul [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2112015
Kudos: 4





	Beyond the Soul

A quiet city sits idly by a lake. Tides washing along the rocky shoreline as the intense phosphorescent moonlight looms over, exposing nightly activities that the citizens contributed to. Deserted roads stretch for miles, with tall ornate street lamps illuminating artificial glow onto the street. In the distance, a lighthouse could be seen, slowly beaming light sweeping across the darkness. 

Down a dark alleyway, there are a couple of women hanging about, when an older model of a metallic black Sudan pulls up next to a young woman. It was hard to make out the figure of the driver, but continues to lean into the car window, the lilac ribbon tied to the side of her neck, swaying into the night time breeze. 

“It’s 100 a hour.” Her seductive tone slurred. Nothing is said as she gives the stranger a sultry glance. The sound of the car door unlocking itself could be heard as the young woman hops into the car.

Forty-Six Hours Ago  
There she was again, the woman in a white dress. Geralt could never see her face, but the sense of familiarity smothers him. Somebody that he once knew in the Old World, no doubt. No matter just how far she faintly ran through the forest, he was always there turning into a natural predator, hunting her down just to get a glimpse at her. 

Although, It was never enough. Her form would slip further away, drifting into a void of darkness, a darkness that Geralt would never venture into, leaving him alone in the forest he thought he knew. A sea of voices, whispering about, swallowing him whole.. Just above the noise, her voice shines through the others. She whispers, “Find me” before a roaring fire consumes her, burning her into a crisp. 

He slinks back, afraid of the burning embers, touching his skin, burning him to a crisp just as he saw the woman before him. Only to then realize that he was safe. Safe from the fire, from the voices. 

He was no longer racing through ghostly moribund forest, but gasping for breath, on a busted green couch that had countless holes and scratches on the couch and the cotton was coming out. The soft lulls of the city coming in through his window. It was just a dream. A dream that he relives every night, since becoming exiled. Even as centuries past, it felt like yesterday. With no recollection of his prior lifestyle, he made sure to slink in the shadows. Never had he went out of the community of fables that lived in the city amongst the humans. It was a death sentence. 

Geralt rubs his hands over his face, noticing that his fingernails are now claws. He retracts them into his hand, a soft grunts follows when he sits on the edge of the couch. The feel of an impending headache, knocks louder than ever. He eyes the half-empty bottle of scotch that settled on the cherry wood coffee table. A small circleware glass beside it. A routine that Geralt would drown the nightmares with liquor, till he passed out the next morning. It worked most of the time, while other times it didn’t. He knew for a fact, it was better to not feel the aftermath then to feel anything at all. 

Another knock ruptured into the air. Geralt stifles in his seat. It wasn’t in his head, for the persistent knocking was at his office door. He gulps downs the remainder of the bottle before maneuvering around the piles of case files that lay on the ground. Geralt grumbled “I’m coming.” just as the person on the other side knocks again. He swung open the door, to reveal Mousesack with a long trench coat toting a leather attache case in hand, leaning on the doorframe with a smirk across his lips. “Morning Gorgeous.”

Geralt tries to close the door but is stopped by the mans’ brown boots wedged between the door and threshold. “What do you want don’t you know what time it is? Can't you tell I was in the middle of something important?”

“I can smell the booze on your breath from here.” Geralt deadpans, as if he needed another reason to be bothered. “It's in the middle of the day and, I'm your friend. Remember you have those to come over and make sure you don't drink yourself to death.” Mousesack pushes past into Geralt’s office. “Maybe I should look for new friends, huh.” Geralt remains standing at the door, leaning onto the doorjamb with his arms folded. Mousesack uncomfortably welcomes a complete mess, unkempt case files, newspaper, and other miscellaneous items cluttering all around. Geralt watches his friend, swipes a finger along his desk, collecting dust. 

“If you don’t want to lose a finger, I suggest you touch nothing else. I’m in the middle of a case.” Mouse clasp his hands behind back, humming in response. The two both knew that it was a lie, since the only people that really gave Geralt work was the Council. 

“I know you Mousesack. You don’t make house-calls just willingly unless those long-eared Fae bastards down at town hall sent you so I can do their dirty work. So what is it now.” 

Mousesack walks over towards Geralt, taking a manila document case file out of his briefcase. He holds the folder up for only a second to then slap it onto the coffee table. Geralt raised a single eyebrow before he kicked himself off the doorjamb. Moseying across the room to pick it up, a scowl climbs onto his face as he looks over the folder. Geralt could already tell things were just edging to go tits-up, but he would never let Mousesack know that. 

The pictures contained a male with a ginger buzz cut, and the male’s real form. A wild boar. He couldn’t remember the last time that he dealt with the boar clan in the Old World, but it wasn’t pretty, that’s for sure. An incident where the boars got too rowdy and wandered into Bellgarde territory, bad blood forever settle against the two clans. Not too many made it out with their lives.

“Kenneth Dunnski. A wild boar, been going quite sometime now without ordering glamour and constantly not in human form. Be careful, he’s dangerous.” Geralt nods taking in all the information that he could. “So let me guess, you want me to go down there rough him up a bit.” The man only shook his head. “No, the Farm.” Geralt’s s head snapped upwards to his friend. He could count the many times he had to drag a fable to that god awful place. He didn’t like going there himself, for it made his skin crawl. “Damn...what he’d do?” 

“Don’t you worry about that. Do this for them and the money that you need to survive should be placed in your account.” Mousesack pats his shoulder in passing to head towards the door. “And Geralt, try not to hurt him too bad, ‘mkay?” With that Mousesack was gone, and Geralt was once again left in the silence with his thoughts. 

He shuffled over to his desk, file in hand. The brown antique office chair crackled under his weight, as if it was moments away from collapsing. Did he truly want to work for the council, no but he had no choice. It was his contribution to the fables of old, to earnestly preserve the secrecy of the land. Had it not been for the council employing him on the backend, he could’ve been just like half the other fables.

Rotting away from living out on the streets of the city. This modern world hasn’t been unduly kind to people like Geralt, but he was thankful at least to be adequate to put meals in his belly and drink to his soul’s desire. That’s what he had to tell himself, every chance he was assigned to do the council’s dirty work. That he was grateful. Kennth’s picture hauntly peer back. He couldn’t shake an overwhelming sense that rested in his gut. That he should just walk away while he still could. He slid open the last desk drawer to be greeted by empty bottles of whiskey. “Fuck.” he grumbled, slamming the dresser closed.

Geralt squints up at the dingy three-story brick building. Before peering back down at the case file, he checks his location again. The apartment sat smack dabbed in the middle of a red-light district. Graffiti adorning the exterior perimeter. Bundles of waste bags remain on the streets. He was clearly in the right place. Geralt hummed in an irritation to himself, before tossing the file into the seat of his ‘67 thunderbird. ‘Roach’ titled onto the license plate. If there was nothing else that he detested worse, it was a fable out of Fae magic. It tracked unnecessary attention towards his community, in which he would have to take up the slack. 

Sometimes that means the character would have to go to the Farm. Nobody knows what actually goes on down there, but it terrifies practically all the fables into buying the overpriced magic. Maybe it’s the fact that nobody truly comes back. The council deemed it as a weaponized entity that the humans possessed, convincing everybody else the same. To Geralt he could care less about the place. It was just a children’s tale, for he never ventured beyond the forbidden forest. A gimmick at best. 

A man walks by Geralt, shoulder checking the wolf. A low snarl rumbles within his chest, as the male eyes slightly shifted to black continuing on his way. Another character opens up their apartment door, but as they are stepping inside their home, he could see the person’s dragon tail dragging along the ground, before the door slams shut. Geralt rolled his eyes in disdain as he strode onwards. The tension between keeping the fables from killing him and themselves were a high risk for working for the council. Still others didn’t see it that way. He was a traitor to the midst at most. 

Just as he ended his trek, Geralt’s boot hovered over a talisman. He plucks it off the floor to examine a shamrock ring. He stores it in his pocket and proceeds to knock on the door. The door opens, exposing a chunky black boar. He sports a white beater with a couple of brown smudges, with an olive cardigan. The boar belches', scratching at the chest hair that peeked out from under his shirt.

“Aye, since me don’t have me Fae magic, they sent you huh. The big bad wolf. What are you here to do, take me to the Farm?” His thick accent drips into every word spoken. Geralt gestures towards Kenneth Dunnski’s true form. 

“Could it be more obvious? You can’t just walk around in the human world like….that. Its too much attention on us fables. Catch my drift.” 

The boar puffed out a air through his snot, in laughter, although Geralt didn’t find anything funny. “Aw. Couldn’t be much worse, could it? You fables in the town hall are so worried about us dying from the hands of the humans, but you all are too damn blind to see that we are already dying?” 

“Okay, I don’t work for those long ear bastards down in town hall---” 

“Right, me forgot what you do is better….. ’re the lapdog. I apologize.” 

One. His finger twitches at his sides, subconsciously balling themselves into a fist, fingernails digging crescent moons into his skin before he talks again. It was days like this, where he would rather drown in his alcoholism than to deal with his kinfolks. Today had to be the day where he ran out. His mind wanderers into calculating just how long he could go before lashing out. 

“Like I said invest in Fae magic or else.”

“Or else what wolfie.” the hunter’s shoulder tips backwards as Dunnski shoves him. Geralt’s eyes lingers on the spot that the boar touched. Two. He scratches the tail end of his eyebrow. “You're gonna stand over me body and watch me burn just like your family did in Bellgarde.” Three. 

The sleuth’s patience went out the window. He no longer cared for placating the fable, that continuously disrespect him. He punched the man in his snout. The boar lets out an animalistic shriek, as he staggers into his home, shielding his nose. Geralt couldn’t help the smile that crawled onto his face. Blood dripped onto the boar’s shirt, as he shook off the hit. Not a second waisted, as he yanks onto Geralt’s jacket, launching him into the living room’s rickety wooden hutch. Against his weight, the cupboard crashes around him. He rolls onto his side, groaning to collect his bearings, but the boar’s boot kicks him in the face.

Seemingly so hard, it sent his head reeling to the side, a twisted snap filling his ears. Whatever that sound was, Geralt knew that it would hurt in the morning. Dunnski latched onto the ends of the sleuth’s jacket, just in time he head butts the animal in the stomach. The boar staggers again. Soon after he catches himself, he charges, hurling the man into the rustic wooden coffee table. Geralt lays on his back, puffing from getting the wind knocked out of him. He knew that he was out of shape, but not to this extent. “Get up.” Dunnski kicks the hunter in his side. “You come in me home, boss me ‘round and shite. I got bigger problems then them fairy egits.” In the midst of kicking the sleuth again. Geralt grabs a hold of a broken table leg from the debris, stabbing Dunnski in his thigh. The boar lets out a shattering sickening scream that shook the room. In a flash he barrels out of the apartment. 

Geralt picks himself up from the broken coffee table, huffing from the fight. His back snaps back in places as he stretches. At least he was wrong, things didn’t get too out of hand. Mousesack should be proud. He snaps his jaw back in place, before following trickles of blood that led to the outside, behind the building into the alleyway. 

Geralt stops short as his eyes couldn’t believe what he’s seeing. Kennth’s Dunnski’s headless body, swaying to and fro. The head is missing completely. In its place, a lilac ribbon lodge into the stump. ”Shit.” Mousesack was going to kill him. Geralt lets out a grunt, as he felt the world collapse on him. His body dropped to the ground, as he slipped in and out of consciousness. He could only catch glimpses of body walking away, until darkness consumed him.


End file.
